"Poor, suffering Mona!" Her mother touched his arm reassuringly. "All went well till late this afternoon. Mona began to suffer atrociously. Pains in her abdomen. They were so horrible that I summoned the doctor again. She didn't mind him, she was suffering so: He hinted at the shock and asked to examine her, fearing, no doubt, peritonitis. And that's precisely what it is ... as soon as he saw her poor swollen figure.... Of course, he knew at once ... and that brave girl never flinched. Her first question was the safety of the ... of her child ... when he told her the truth. Tears rolled down her cheek ... that, and no thought of disgrace troubled her ... she bites the pillow-case when the pains return, she won't scream ... such a brave girl.... She holds as tight as her strength allows that big doll of hers.... Oh, Mr. Invern, don't cry. Be brave. You must see her ... she doesn't speak of anyone but you--she says you are her dear husband--as you are in the sight of God--No, Mr. Milton takes the thing philosophically. He entertains no harsh thoughts concerning you. Young people! Ah! Mr. Invern, this is a sad meeting. My son Milt has spoken so often of you, and so beautifully--why didn't Mona tell us of her love for you? We should have been happy to receive you--but now--the future is a blank. She fell asleep when she learned that you were here. Her father is with her, and the doctor--he would give us no definite promise--septicaemia he fears, and that awful peritonitis ... wait, I'll go see if you may come." Like a genteel apparition she stole away, leaving Ulick in a doleful mood. Where his philosophy now? Where his calm attitude of a spectator on the sidewalk of life? Vanished all his shallow theories. Confronted by invincible facts his sensual day-dreams shrivelled into nothingness. Only Mona--only that she be spared, he prayed, and prayed for the first time since his boyhood. "O Jesus, sauve-moi! Sans toi je périra!" A scrap of a supplication he had heard his mother utter many times in her tribulations: Mrs. Milton was beckoning from the door. He followed her, treading as lightly as he could. He was chilled with fear. She lay under a counterpane that was as white as her face. The room was empty, the father and medical man elsewhere. She slept. A large French doll was clasped in her arms. Her heavy hair had been braided and rolled off her forehead. Her features were discomposed, her eyelids discoloured. Shocked by the change he saw in her, Ulick knelt at the bedside. Mrs. Milton remained without. Mona's breathing was irregular. She looked ten years older. He hated the grotesque doll with the staring eyes of porcelain. It took up so much space in her bed--in her affection. Her eyes opened.